


Boneless

by Tilltheendwilliwrite



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Violence, тэг заменён на Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilltheendwilliwrite/pseuds/Tilltheendwilliwrite
Summary: @unicorns-and-fairy-dust asked: For Smutty Drabble Day, Ivar, knife play. After the “You can’t kill me” episode.





	Boneless

## An Ivar the Boneless One-shot

* * *

“You can’t kill me!” Ivar screamed, propped up against the wheel of a cart. “Do you know who I am? I’m Ivar the Boneless!”

You watched in awe as Ivar single-handedly terrorized the Christians, holding them back with nothing but his voice and the power of his name. He was a force, raging, bloody, insane in that instant, but so damn compelling.

It did things to your shieldmaiden body no man had ever done before. You wanted to rush to his side, stand as his shield, but you knew he would be as likely to slash open your hamstring as he was to thank you.

No. If you wanted Ivar, the one true King of Kattegat, you would need to be clever about how you went about it. Still, when Ubbe held the group of you back, kept you from going to Ivar’s side, you had dark thoughts about stabbing him in the ear.

Then the others arrived, and the battle renewed, forcing you to put aside your thoughts and desires until later.

***

The campaign was won, Ivar’s guard had assisted him back to the keep, but when the men carried him to his chambers, you followed a few moments later. To your disappointment, Ivar had already washed the blood from his face when you arrived in the doorway.

The men all eyed you when you walked in as if you belonged there and set your shield against the wall. Only once your sword joined it did you lift your eyes to the three men staring at you in confusion. “Your lord requires a bath.” When no one moved, you snarled, “Now! Heat the water, bring the tub and fresh towels. Move!”

All of them scuttled to do your bidding, calling for water as they rushed to get the wood basin which had been found in another part of the castle. King Ecbert had killed himself in the elegant bathing room, or you would have demanded they bring Ivar there, but it was thoroughly soiled.

“You are very commanding, maiden,” Ivar murmured.

The quiet of his voice revealed nothing of his feelings but amusement lit his blue eyes when you turned to face him. “Is it a crime to see to my king?”

“Am I your king?” he asked.

You watched him watch you as you removed the thick heavy leather which protected your chest and back. Your arm guards fell to the floor next, then your boots. Finally, you peeled your long-sleeved outer tunic off to reveal what little you wore beneath before gliding toward Ivar.

You reached for his face. His hand shot out and grasped your wrist, the edge of a blade found your throat, but you smiled and let him see you weren’t afraid only aroused by the treatment. “Yes, you’re my king.”

“And how would you serve your king?” he asked, the tip of his blade now skimming down your flesh, leaving behind beads of welling blood.

He was sitting in a high backed wooden chair where his men had placed him, and you settled to your knees at his feet. “I would bathe you, my king, and then see where things led.”

Ivar gripped a handful of your hair and wrenched your head to the side, the dagger returning to nick your jaw. “They will lead _nowhere_!” he snapped, anger causing the blue of his eyes to sharpen into shards.

“I am yours to command, my king,” you said without flinching, his anger understandable.

There had been talk for years about what Ivar could and couldn’t do. That the lack of bone in his legs led to a lack of bone elsewhere, but you knew Margrethe, and you knew Ivar. The whiny little bitch had likely cried the entire time she’d been with him. It would have put any man off his game.

You were not weak. You were a shield maiden, not some slave who’d risen in status by marrying Ubbe.

He gave you a shove when the men returned packing caldrons of water and the large tub. Ivar flicked his wrist at you. “Get on with it then.”

Refusing to let his attitude disconcert you, you rose to your feet and barked orders at the men. Once the tub was full, you looked pointedly at them until they hurried from the room and shut the door.

Ivar waited, anger coating his features. You returned to his side and began removing his clothing. He refused to assist you, but you remained undeterred; especially when his eyes strayed to your chest and down the front of your barely there shirt. When you reached for his pants, he shackled your wrists in a bruising grip.

“Would you like to bathe in your pants?”

He scoffed and released you. “Get on with it. You are touching me too much,” he pouted.

You bit back your smile and stripped the filthy garment from his legs. The sight of them didn’t bother you, twisted as they were, they merely made him unique. He was touched by the gods, and after earlier today, you knew he was blessed by them as well.

“Come, Ivar. I will assist you.”

“I don’t need your help!” he snapped, heaving himself down out of the chair to crawl across the floor and lever himself up into the tub faster than you could have gotten him there.

It was oddly beautiful, the way he moved. He made no apologies for being a cripple. If he had to crawl, he crawled. It was his way, and the massive chest and shoulders expressed how such actions made him so strong.

Once he settled, grunting a little for the water was hotter than he probably expected, you picked up his clothing and stalked to the doors where you yanked them open and threw them at one of Ivar’s men. “Have those cleaned!”

“Yes, milady,” he gasped wide-eyed and made you smile. Already they were learning.

Returning to Ivar, you sat on a stool beside him, dampened and soaped a cloth, and began to work it over his chest in firm passes. “When was the last time you bathed? You smell of the stink of men.”

“You are no spring flower yourself, woman,” he snapped.

“I killed fifty men in battle but an hour ago and have been attending to you ever since, Ivar. My stench is well earned. Once you are finished, I will use your bath.”

“You will, will you? How very generous of me to allow such a thing.”

“If it disturbs you so greatly, perhaps I will join Jorg instead,” you quipped, wiping down his arm.

The blade he still held slapped you sharply in the cheek. “Do not threaten things you will not follow through on, maiden.”

“I would never, my king,” you said innocently and cast him a sly glance.

He chuckled softly. “You amuse me.”

“How kind of me to do so,” you quipped, scrubbing the filth from his fingers before plucking a short dagger from the small of your back. He stiffened, but when you only made to pare his nails and trim them, Ivar relaxed again. “You have trust issues, Ivar.”

“It comes from everyone wanting to kill me,” he said with a nonchalant air.

“Killing you is the last thing on my mind.” Rising, you took the stool with you as you moved down to wash his legs. Again he tensed, but you reached into the hot water, caught the back of his knee, and lifted out his foot. “Filthy,” you huffed, scrubbing the cloth and soap over the sole, but when you made to wash his toes, he giggled, and his foot jerked.

“Do not do that again,” he commanded.

“Is the great Ivar ticklish?” you asked, running your nails up the ball of his foot.

He jerked a second time and snarled, “I said stop!”

With a shrug, you cleaned and pared those nails as well, switched legs and repeated, all while quietly watching him sink lower in the water, relaxing as much as he ever did. Ivar lived because he was highly alert and a warrior without compare. He was wary of you yet, uncertain of your intended goal, but soon he would know. He would see.

You continued around the tub, washing his other arm and hand, cleaning and paring his nails, before moving to the head of the bath where a basin and pitcher, along with a fresh bucket of clean water waited. With great care, you took down his braids, poured fresh water over his head, and added soap. There was much dried blood, his hair crusty with it, and you grimaced in distaste.

“Does a little blood bother you, maiden?” he quipped, his condescending smile flashing.

“I have killed five hundred men with my own hands. Blood will never bother me.”

“And only fifty in this battle? You must have had a late start,” he smirked.

You poured water over his hair to cleanse the soap. It all ran red into the basin so you began again, working your nails and fingers over his scalp in a way you’d always found pleasurable. “I was trained late by my mother when my husband decided he wanted a younger wife. When he thought killing me would be easier than divorcing me, I killed him first.”

“As you should have,” he murmured, his eyes closing as you worked the soap through his hair.

“It was easier than I expected. The knife was very sharp, and his heart gave such little resistance when I stuck the blade between his ribs,” you whispered near Ivar’s ear.

“My heart would not be so easy to strike, maiden,” he warned eyes of blue starring at you again.

A quiet chuckle spilled from your lips while you rinsed his hair. The water and soap ran clear into the bowl. You dried his dark locks and returned to sit at his side, leaving his hair unbound for the moment.

“What now, maiden?” he asked, a smile gracing his lips.

“I have not finished with your bath, my king,” you murmured as you soaped the cloth a final time and ran it over his chest, into the water, and down his abdomen.

Gazes locked, you carefully washed his manhood, working the root and sack with dexterous fingers.

“You play at things you know nothing about,” he growled and reached for your wrist, but stopped when you rose up on your knees beside him and let the cloth float to the surface as you took him in your hand.

“I know what they say about you. I know what your brothers think, and what rumours they allow to spread, but I also know a _willing_ woman can make all the difference, my king,” you sighed as you stroked him gently, coaxing his length to grow in your hand.

His eyes widened, surprise evident, and made you smile when you set your opposite hand on his chest and leaned toward his lips. Hovering a scant inch from his, you whispered, “Watching you face down the Christians alone made me ache for you. I wanted to lick the blood from your face, Ivar.”

Ivar growled and seized you by the back of the neck, pulled you forward and took your mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. The moment you let him into your mouth, let his tongue thrust between your teeth, you felt his cock swell and pulse with his release.

Angry embarrassment had him shoving you hard, sending you tumbling backward to the ground. “Get out!” he snapped.

“No!” you snarled.

“If you tell anyone of this, I will have you killed!” he hissed.

“Do you think I care?” you said harshly. “All men spill their seed like this the first time a woman treats them correctly! It has nothing to do with being a cripple!”

He blinked at you for a moment before something akin to vulnerability came over his face. “They don’t speak of this,” he muttered, looking away. “My brothers.”

“Of course not. They think you are less than them when the truth is you are so much more. The Gods blessed you. You are the chosen son of Ragnar. You are the one true king. And if you let me, _I_ can be your guide in all things they think are _unnecessary_.”

“And what do you want out of this?” he asked, eyes narrowed in consideration.

You lifted your chin. “To sit at your side, as your queen.”

“Queen to the crippled King?” he sneered.

“Queen to Ivar the Boneless,” you murmured as you pushed up and leaned back toward the tub. “Queen to the most feared of all Vikings. Queen to the only man who has ever made my body ache.”

You were uncertain what he saw on your face or in your eyes, but when his smile spread, you smiled in return. Devious, it was as if Loki himself peered out at you from behind Ivar’s blue eyes.

“And when you give me sons, my brothers will see I am more than they could ever be,” he laughed, dragging you toward him by the arm to kiss you again.

You stopped him with a hand on his chest. “All great warriors need time to recover.”

He scoffed, but you ran your hand through his hair and kissed him gently, with slow passion; the very opposite of his brutal assault of earlier. You knew he liked it though when his heart kicked hard beneath your hand.

“And what do you suggest we do while I recover?”

“Have you ever watched a maiden at her bath, my king?” you asked before lightly biting his lip.

“I have not,” he smirked.

“Come, out of the tub with you.” The monstrosity these Christians used as beds had been removed and a thick pile of furs waited near the fire.

Without your assistance, Ivar dragged himself from the water and hefted himself to the edge of the wood tub where you were quick to dry him. He swung first one leg and then the other over, each getting the same treatment with the towel you’d given his body before he looked at you expectantly.

“If you would be my queen, perhaps you should assist me to bed,” he smiled and made you laugh.

“You are such trouble,” you murmured, but bent to help lift him to his feet and slowly shuffle him to the furs, he fell to his hands, crawled up into the center, and flipped over to rest back on his elbows.

“Get on with it.” He waved you away.

You admired the view before turning to saunter back to the tub and peel your damp shirt over your head. The bounce of your full breasts set the amulet of Thor dangling between them swinging. A second one of bone carved with Valkyrie runes and protection stuck to your sweaty skin as you pushed your pants down, revealing your ass to the man behind you.

“Bend over. I wish to see your cunt,” Ivar commanded.

It made you roll your eyes, but not so he could see as you bent down and pushed the pants off your feet. You knew your lower lips would glisten with your desire, knew he would see it shine in the firelight and smiled when he growled an excited noise.

“Women like it when you look at them,” you said softly, gliding your fingers up your thighs and hips as you rose to your full height again. “We like it when you tell us we are beautiful. You do not even need to use words. Simply make that noise again,” you smiled over your shoulder at him before turning to give him the full view of what was now his. “Or look at them as you are now.”

Reaching up, you took out your braids and shook loose your hair, allowing the dense mass of it to fall around you.

“You are beautiful,” Ivar said, watching you intently. “Is it true women like it when their husbands lick them down there?”

“My husband never treated me to such courtesies, but yes, most women speak highly of men with skilled tongues.” Stepping into the tub, you sighed for it was still warm enough to be pleasant on your muscles, but instead of sitting as you usually would, you knelt and collected the floating cloth to begin working soap over your arms, holding each one out so the length of it would catch the light.

Ivar’s eyes strayed to your breasts again. “My tongue is quite strong. Ubbe always says I talk too much.”

You chuckled softly and dripped water down your chest, noting the slight jump of his cock when you did so. Forgoing the cloth, you soaped them directly, sighing a little when you plucked your nipples and made them hard.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes. My breasts are very sensitive. My nipples more so.”

“And do they enjoy a skilled tongue?”

“Or hands. They are not picky,” you smiled and dipped your head forward to soap and wash your hair. It was tricky, but you were putting on a show for Ivar, not going for convenience. Tipping your head back, you scrubbed your nails over your scalp, knowing just what the position would do to arch your back and thrust your breasts forward. Once the soap was in, you slowly rose to your feet to scrub each leg, resting your foot on the edge of the tub as you ran the cloth down each limb.

A quick glance at Ivar showed his cock growing thicker with each passing moment.

“What else do you enjoy?”

The inquiry was soft, gentle even, almost timid, but Ivar would never be timid. “I like a bite of teeth, the tender drag of a blade. Hot hands on my ass. I want marks of possession and passion left behind by your mouth.” You bent to pick up the bucket from beside the tub, still half full of water and looked at Ivar. “And when you come, I want to hear my name on your lips.”

His eyes widened in excitement when you lifted the bucket and poured out the water over your head. Wet and dripping, you dropped it beside you and stood proudly before him.

“Come here, woman,” he growled.

You paused long enough to wring out your hair, step from the bath, and run the towel over your skin before walking to him in all your nakedness. “Must I tell you my name, Ivar?”

“Think you I don’t know it already?” he smirked when you knelt at the foot of the furs.

“You still have not used it. Not once since this battle began.”

He arched a brow and crooked his fingers at you. “Are we in a battle?”

You crawled up his body and placed your hand on his chest. “We’ll be in a fight if you don’t use my name.”

“Haven’t even consummated our union and already we are fighting. That does not bode well for the future.”

You shoved him to his back. “If you do not wish to fight, perhaps I can coax it out of you another way.”

“What way?” he asked.

Instead of answering, you closed your hand around his hard cock and gave it a long stroke. “What’s my name, Ivar?”

“Fuck,” he panted.

“Wrong.” You rotated your wrist around his flared head. “My name, Ivar.”

A moan fell from his lips, soft and gentle.

“Ivar,” you murmured, bending to blow a breath of air over his cock. “My name.”

He watched you with those icy blue eyes, his lips parted, and hands clenched. “Maiden…”

“My name,” you whispered, sliding back his foreskin.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and your lips closed around his cock. “Freyja’s tits!” he bellowed and grabbed a handful of your hair.

You chuckled as you let him pull you away. “It is not just the women who like a little tongue action, but at least I know you know my name.”

He flipped you to your back and levered himself over you. “The shield maiden who has killed more men than any before her including that bitch Lagertha? Of course, I know your name.”

“I should call you Ivar the Horrible,” you pouted.

He sank his teeth into your lip. “I shall be Ivar the Incredible when I'm through with you.”

You flipped him back to his back and straddled his hips. When he frowned and made to protest, you placed a finger on his lips. “Let me please you, Ivar.” Slowly, you traced your hands down his chest and out over his shoulders, down to his wrists which you curled your fingers around and lifted to place his hand on your hips. “Touch me.”

His hands tightened, then softened and began to stroke over your skin. Callused and hard, they felt amazing, and you sighed and caressed his powerful arms. You lifted your hips and settled back a little bit more, letting your wet core land on his hard length. Another quiet moan became a growl of pleasure when you rocked your hips, sliding all that wetness over him.

“Now you tease me,” he huffed.

You skimmed your hands up his chest to cup his jaw, then bent down to kiss him with gentleness, something you knew he’d only ever gotten from Aslaug. His hands drifted around to squeeze your ass, making you hum with pleasure. “I like your hands, Ivar.”

“Yes?”

“They are pleasing.” You slipped your tongue over his lip, twined your tongue around his, and showed him how to kiss a woman.

“Y/N,” he hummed and squeezed so tight you knew there would be bruises, not that you minded. “I want to be inside you.”

You sat back and rolled your hips, smiling when his mouth dropped open on a moan. Then, you reached behind you and grasped his hands, brought them around, and pressed them to your breasts. “Then touch me, Ivar. Touch me everywhere.”

Once his big hands started to move, his thumb and forefingers rolling and plucking your nipples making you moan, you lifted up and took him in hand to notch him against your opening. Before you lowered down, you looked him in the eyes. Such excitement and disbelief resided there; you couldn’t help but smile as you settled over him.

He was big, bigger than you expected, stretching you out gloriously and filling you full. A moan erupted from your throat. It had been so long since you’d felt a man inside you, since you’d wanted a man, and this man was everything you could want.

Opening eyes you hadn’t realized you’d closed, you scratched your nails down his chest and braced against his ribcage. “Now, now you are mine,” you smiled and rolled your hips, sliding his thick length through your walls.

Possessiveness sparked in his eyes. “I think it’s the other way around.”

Triumph filled you as you began to ride, loving the way he felt, the fire which grew and burned in your belly. It matched the one which appeared in his eyes. You used every bit of skill you’d learned to please him, and by the look on Ivar’s face, you weren’t disappointing.

Then, without warning, he surged up and gripped the back of your neck. His mouth closed over your throat, teeth dug in, and you cried out in bliss. The tight coil in your middle burned and curled. Ivar clenched his hand in your hair and pulled your head back. He bit another mark into your throat on the opposite side, sucking bruise after bruise into your skin.

“Ivar,” you moaned, rolling your body into his as you wrapped your arms around him. Your slick skin slid over his. Your breasts flattened to his chest as you rode, rising and falling in little jerks over his lap. “Ivar, you feel incredible.”

“You feel… like Valhalla,” he growled and bit down on your shoulder.

A scream tore itself from your throat when your body ignited, and the coil snapped. You came hard, gripping and milking Ivar's cock as the euphoria filled you, and dragged your nails down his back.

Still, you continued to move, rise and fall over him, squeeze his length until a guttural growl ripped from his throat and he bellowed your name. His seed flooded you and overflowed to run down your thighs, heat your insides and make you purr.

Right up until the door slammed open and you glared at Elof. “Get the fuck out!”

The man’s eyes were enormous as he stared at the two of you in shock. “I just… heard… noises.”

“Elof has clearly never had a woman if he does not know what the sounds of lovemaking are,” Ivar laughed before pressing kisses all down your chest. He curled you back over his arm and took your nipple in his mouth while Elof watched.

“If you do not leave right now, I shall cut your manhood off and make you eat it, Elof!” you snarled, only to moan when Ivar worried your nipple with his teeth.

The door slammed, and Ivar went over backward into the furs, laughing with such joy you couldn’t help but giggle and fall down beside him. He jerked you close and kissed you with such passion you felt a renewed interest in your belly.

“That was incredible!” he laughed.

“You are incredible,” you smiled.

“Only because I have you as my teacher.”

His praise made you happy, and you lifted your head to see his face. “You are the son of Ragnar. You only needed direction. The rest came naturally.”

“I would like it to come naturally again,” he smirked. “Many times.”

“Do you plan on planting your son in my belly tonight?”

His hand drifted down to settle over your womb. “Do you think?”

“If Thor is willing,” you smiled.

“Odin. Odin will see to it,” he said with conviction as he began to work his lips over your body.

“And just what are you up to?”

He sucked a mark into your hip, then grinned that wicked devious, God of Mischief smile at you. “Seeing if my tongue is skilled enough to have my guard breaking down my door a second time… my queen.”

You smiled down at him and spread your legs, vowing to scream yourself hoarse for him.

Soon, all would know Ivar Ragnarsson was anything but boneless.

**_-The End-_ **


End file.
